


holding on tight and sleeping at night

by its_tortle



Series: tumblr drabbles and ficlets [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Endgame, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, So much angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tumblr Prompt, Unspoken Love, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, bucky makes him, but its made clear, steve doesnt sleep, though its barely over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_tortle/pseuds/its_tortle
Summary: written for the lovelylesbianferrissbuellerfor the prompt "How about something warm? It'll help you sleep."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: tumblr drabbles and ficlets [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951201
Comments: 20
Kudos: 85





	holding on tight and sleeping at night

**Author's Note:**

> original post [here](https://its-tortle.tumblr.com/post/633440913874632704/oh-my-god-14-in-the-fluff-prompts-for-stucky-pls)
> 
> title from EASE by troye sivan

It’s nearly 2 AM, and Steve hasn’t actually read a single word of the page he’s been staring at for the past twenty minutes.

He’s exhausted. The bone-deep, fervent kind. But he won’t go to sleep anytime soon,  _ can’t _ , because what if he wakes up and Bucky is gone again, ripped from him without a chance of reversal.

It’s been six long days since that last harrowing battle and since Tony died and about 3.7 billion people reappeared out of thin air and were left to re-find their places in the world. Steve has been helping as much as he can through the haze of his exhaustion, but he isn’t helping as much as he should.

He’s too busy keeping Bucky in his sights, against his side, under his foot, under his hands. There’s no way he’s going another minute without him.

So, he hasn’t slept much. Maybe an hour or three total since everything, naps in waiting rooms, but not in a bed. Not  _ sleep _ . He doesn’t want it, doesn't want to dream about the dust and about Bucky’s voice calling out to him, and wake up alone in his apartment.

But considering the way he’s been staring at the same damn page of  _ Norwegian Wood _ with no capacity to process a single word, even his super-serum stamina might be reaching its end. 

He’ll retire to his bedroom soon, just so that Bucky doesn't worry.

As if on cue, Bucky steps back into the living area then, clad in pyjama pants and a t-shirt with his hair damp and skin glowing from the undoubtedly scalding heat of the shower he just took. He smiles from the doorway.

Steve’s heart stutters and swells and trips over itself a few times at the sight of Bucky, so warm and relaxed and healthy and  _ there, _ and Steve suspects that the serum might not have quite fixed his heart murmur.

With all the creative ways the universe is finding to keep him and Bucky apart, it’s getting increasingly difficult not to address the ever unspoken air between them. It’s been there ever since Steve can remember, but the 30s were dangerous, the 40s were hell, and the 21st century didn’t cut them any slack either. Healing took priority over his stupid feelings, even after Bucky was finally free, and maybe it still does, but Steve aches with how much he wants Bucky. How much he loves him.

“You turning in?”, Bucky asks, and Steve knows it’s more a demand than it is a question. 

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll just finish this chapter.”

Bucky hums, and instead of turning into the hall to the bedrooms, goes to the kitchen to Steve’s left. 

He opens the fridge, closes it again a few seconds later, and then begins rummaging through cabinets.

Steve lets him do so for about half a minute before his curiosity gets the better of him. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll make you something,” Bucky answers cryptically. _ “How about something warm? It’ll help you sleep.” _

At that, Steve puts his book down and sighs. “I’m not hungry, Buck.”

“Tea, then.”

“Buck-”

“Chamomile or the Happiness one?”

Steve opens his mouth to argue again, but the stare Bucky fixes him with is nothing short of terrifying. Suddenly, Steve is fifteen years old with a bad cold and Bucky is forcing him to have ‘just two more goddamn spoons of stew’.

“Happiness,” he sighs.

Bucky gets to work, tittering around the kitchen while Steve keeps staring at page 127. He realizes he’s forgotten where Toru even is right then.

A handful of moments later, Bucky hands Steve a steaming mug, the big Falcon one from Sam, and plops down on the other end of the sofa. He automatically lifts his hands so that Steve can put his feet on Bucky’s lap.

With a halfhearted glare, Steve takes a sip of the tea. Reluctantly, he admits -- if just to himself -- that the tea is delicious and that the warmth feels wonderful traveling down his chest.

“Happy now?”, he utters.

Bucky smiles and Steve wants to kiss the little wrinkles around his eyes. “Are you actually gonna get some sleep?”

Steve huffs a little, but he can’t lie to Bucky, so he just shrugs with a self-deprecating quirk of lips. “Probably not.”

Bucky frowns then. There’s no pity in his eyes, something Steve so sorely appreciates, but there’s a whole lot of concern and even bigger lot of love. Steve looks back down at his tea, takes another sip.

It’s silent for a few moments. The wind whispers in the trees outside of the living room window.

“What can I do to help?”

Steve looks back up at Bucky almost incredulously. He shrugs.

“Well, why aren’t you even trying?”, Bucky asks again. There’s a familiar tone in his voice, the why-are-you-such-a-punk-tone.

Downing his tea, Steve takes a deep breath.

“Every time I close my eyes, I think you might not be there when I open them.” 

If he feels a few stubborn tears gather in his eyes, he blames it on the sleep-deprivation. He resolutely doesn’t look at Bucky.

Another silence engulfs them.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes out. “Hey. Stevie. I- Look at me. Steve.  _ Baby. _ ”

At that, Steve does look up. 

Bucky leans forward and cups his cheek so tenderly that Steve feels like he might entirely break apart under the touch. 

“I’m here,” he assures softly. “I’m here, right now, right here, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

At that, Steve can't stop the tear that falls from his eye. He feels ripped open, tired and grieving and bursting with love. It won’t be enough, it never seems to be. Bucky wipes the tear away.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I know.”

Steve leans into Bucky’s hand on his cheek, warm and soft and human, and grasps with his own at Bucky’s other, cold and unyielding and mechanical. He loves them both equally.

Bucky grasps it back.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah? I’ll be right beside you.”

Steve nods and lets Bucky help him up on his shaky, tired legs. He won’t sleep well, not for a couple months at least, but he’ll sleep.

Bucky keeps making him tea every evening.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> kudos make me smile and comments make my whole damn week, so please don't be shy! 💕
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://its-tortle.tumblr.com/) if you are so inclined. :)


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